


Leading Lady

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bard and Grelle just so happen to be alone in a private box, Bard has become a reaper in this AU, But that's another story, F/M, Grelle finally gets a bae who's actually a good person, Grelle is a trans woman as usual, Kissing Prompt, female pronouns for Grelle, reaper au, romance after hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 03:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: Bard and Grelle enjoy a night at the theatre, where things take a rather romantic turn.





	Leading Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fishpaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishpaste/gifts).



> This was written for a good friend on Tumblr in response to the following kissing prompt: "When one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you—” and they answer by kissing them more." I hope you like it, fren! Thank you for being a great mutual! <3
> 
> Although I don't delve into the worldbuilding in detail, Bard is a reaper in this AU. In brief, following our Earl's death after the completion of the contract, Bard and the other servants fell on hard times. This, coupled with his own past traumas and the increasing violence and rapid change raging across the world, caused Bard to take his own life in despair. Therefore, reaper!Bard is now working at the dispatch as an apprentice under our beloved crimson lady. 
> 
> As usual, Grelle is written as a trans woman. I make no apologies.

The susurrus of the audience’s chatter, a politely unintelligible maelstrom of idle gossip and pleasantries as stiffly sweet as marzipan, was quelled at last by the rising of the curtain. The theatre was pervaded by that expectant, magical silence that is heard before the beginning of a play’s next act, descending on the crowd like dust from a fairy’s wings.

If a discerning eye had peered at the opulent private boxes near the stage, they might have noticed the lush, red brocade curtains in a recently vacated box part perceptibly, moved by an invisible hand. However, no mortal gaze could have detected the two reapers, Grelle Sutcliff and Baldroy, who eagerly watched the drama unfold from one of the best seats in the house.

Bard had completed his last assigned reap for the day, collecting the soul of a wealthy old woman, a distinguished patron of the theatre, who was felled by a stroke near the end of the play’s first act. The small band of friends and relatives occupying the box with her had rushed the dowager to a hospital posthaste, the evening’s entertainment overshadowed by their own unforeseen tragedy. Of course, their efforts were in vain. Only two months into his lengthy term of service as a reaper, Bard was still a relatively green recruit, but he had carried out his duties with skill and precision. Who would have guessed that gathering souls would be an easier task for the former soldier than cooking for an earl?

Turning to Bard, Grelle clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. “That was a bloody good reap, darling!” she sang, smiling warmly. “Your quickest yet, and _deadly_ efficient. Simply delightful!”

“Y-ye really think so?” Bard stammered, ducking his head and shuffling his feet awkwardly. His superior was not easily impressed, and hearing such kind words from one of the English division’s most legendary (albeit controversial) reapers filled his chest with a giddy happiness.  Or could it be something more? Bard was quick to banish such thoughts from his mind. Grelle had proven herself a capable mentor after he was assigned to her tutelage, and their rapport had steadily increased over the past several weeks, but surely she would never regard the likes of him as a beau. That role was reserved for men such as Sebastian Michaelis or William T. Spears—certainly not a rough-mannered military bloke with a knack for making any culinary creation explode in flames.

While Grelle faced the stage, intently following the lead actress’s opening monologue, Bard looked in quiet admiration at his lovely companion. After glancing over their list of assignments and realizing that the evening’s final destination was this theatre, Grelle had made sure to dress for the occasion. She wore a vivid, low-cut scarlet dress that accentuated her graceful figure and ended just past her knees. Earlier, she had conspiratorially whispered to Bard that it also had pockets (“Just what a lady needs when she has to carry an extra tube of lipstick with her!”). A heart-shaped ruby necklace adorned her throat, golden chain gleaming in the theatre’s lights. Her feet were clad in impossibly high heels (also her trademark red, of course) that enhanced her statuesque beauty, while bold makeup gave her an enchantress’s alluring eyes and seductive lips. Grelle grinned happily, lost in the glittering world of the stage. She shone with an inner radiance, the pure joy on her face making Bard break out in a broad smile of his own. “What a marvelous play,” she whispered rapturously. “And the leading lady—I’ve never seen an actress play this role so well! Don’t you agree, darling?”

She faced Bard, so vibrant and _alive_ that he was rendered speechless. She seemed to have drawn all the light into herself to form a single composite flame. In an instant, Bard was acutely, painfully aware of how close and intimate the space was. Grelle’s perfume, imbued with the scent of roses, wafted on the air like incense. A strand of her luxuriant hair lightly brushed against his hand, sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

“Bard?” she queried, perplexed by his silence. “Darling?”

_I shouldn’t do this_ , Bard thought as he closed what little space remained between them.

_I really shouldn’t do this_ , he thought as his hands reached up to tenderly cradle Grelle’s face.

“Yer the only leading lady for me, Grelle Sutcliff,” he declared with a conviction and ardor that were practically Shakepearean. And he brought his lips to hers, savoring her sweetness. Grelle was quick to respond, knotting her fingers in his hair, tongue deftly exploring the inside of his mouth. Heat coursed through Bard’s body, eliciting a soft moan before he caught her bottom lip in his teeth. His fingers drifted downwards, caressing her hair, that glorious hair…

Abruptly, Bard jerked back, color high in his cheeks. What the blazes was he thinking?! Grelle had accompanied him to supervise his reaping and enjoy a night at the theatre, nothing more. More importantly, an erstwhile servant had no business wooing Grelle, any more than an onlooker in the audience had a right to interrupt the action of a play. “I’m sorry, are you—” he whispered hoarsely.

Grelle never gave him a chance to complete the sentence. Seizing his tie with an iron grip, she forcibly pulled Bard’s head back down until their lips met once more. “ _Dearest_ ,” she purred, hands drifting to his hips as she pressed herself against him. “You know that every leading lady must have her leading man.”

Bard was incredulous. Grelle couldn’t possibly be murmuring endearments, gently biting at his neck, pushing him backward into one of the box’s plush chairs, easing into his lap as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Had she really just whispered “I love you” within the quiet, secluded darkness? But as he replied, even more softly, “I love you, too,” he surrendered completely to the mysterious force that had drawn them together, enacting his own private drama with the incomparable woman who would always be his leading lady.

 

 


End file.
